


A Matter of Survival

by stacy_l



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Abduction, Alternate Universe, Angst, Captivity, Dark, Gen, Human Trafficking, Implied/Referenced Abuse, POV First Person, Slavery, War Era
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-03
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-24 14:43:05
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,153
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4923595
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stacy_l/pseuds/stacy_l
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam is disturbed by what he sees.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Matter of Survival

**Author's Note:**

> Sam and Dean are not brothers in this story. When I visualized this story and these scenes I was thinking of a mix between a futuristic time and the time of wagon trains. I’m not really certain where this story even came from, but it demanded to be written. I hope you enjoy it, and thanks for reading!
> 
> Story originally posted in May 2010.

**Sam's POV**

I’ve walked these streets a thousand times and can never, even now, get used to seeing such atrocities. They’re lined up against a ramshackle building, boxes…cages, all small and dirty. Each one comes complete with a heavy padlock to keep them tightly closed. Men constantly patrol the area. Some stand while others casually lean against the decrepit walls of the old house. Throughout the yard of littered cages some spend all day walking, meandering through the macabre maze: guards stationed there to protect the merchandise, keep it _contained_. I try to avert my eyes as I pass knowing to look will break my heart.

“Fresh stock…!” I hear and I walk faster deliberately focusing my gaze forward, my attention solely centered on listening to the thousands of sounds all around me, of the macadam of people strolling down endless sidewalks. I keep my head up, my eyes dare not stray as I walk faster pushing myself to just get by those cages forcing my mind to focus on the sounds of people chatting, birds singing, wagons passing by. I listen intently to each one of those sounds until they blur into one big chaotic noise desperately trying to drown out those that are unwanted. I almost make it, almost clear the market parameter when something stops me, halts me in my place. I tell myself not to look, I can’t look, but I do. When I do my gaze is halted, stopped as I’m greeted by the greenest of eyes laced, layered in confusion, turmoil and rage. I catch my breath and approach the closest guard. I ask him how much and extend the necessary money to complete the transaction. It’s all so ludicrous, all so easy how one can boldly do what these men do without batting so much as an eye.

When I leave it’s no longer alone but with a green-eyed stranger pressed so close to me, a simple blanket draped over his too thin frame covering his nakedness from peering eyes. They tell me not to let him free or he’ll run, but how can one run when they are so weakened that they can’t even walk without aid?

I urge him onward only relaxing when the market is far behind me, behind _us_. I help him into my home, carefully draw the blanket away and urge him to settle in the tub of warm water I’ve just drawn for him. He is quiet, silent, reserved. He doesn’t speak just watches me leery and cautious. No doubt he’s questioning my reasoning for what I did expecting so much more than I’ll ever ask of him. He soon stills completely, but I sense it’s more out of exhaustion than anything to do with me.

As I bathe him my eyes scan him, seeking, searching out each individual mark placed upon his skin, assessing them. Several injuries and bruises stand out in stark contrast to his unhealthily pale skin. I want to kiss each one, remove it, take the pain from him, but all I can do is tend to them. Once I bathe him I carefully clean and bandage each injury cautious, careful, afraid to cause him further pain and willing to give up just about anything to insure that I don’t. Once all of his injuries are tended to I dress him in one of my overly large t-shirts. He doesn’t resist. He doesn’t fight me just simply allows me to care for him. It feels wrong some how. He shouldn’t be so unresponsive, so passive in my arms. He should be fighting with everything he has, but I sense that he has been greatly weakened their crude treatment of him no doubt the culprit.

Once done I guide him to my bed and urge him to lie down. He hesitates, but I see how he waivers upon his feet struggling to remain upright without aid and I curse the bastards who deliberately weakened him to such a point. I vow that he will be strong again. He will be whole again. Within moments he’s leaning into me as if the strength to remain upright has suddenly fled him. I immediately draw him into my arms before guiding him gently onto the bed. Once settled I help him to lie down drawing the covers up over his now quivering shoulders. His gaze is no longer focused but cast downwards as if he fears what will happen next. It is then that I wonder if he had been sexually assaulted. The thought makes my blood run cold, my stomach twist into knots and the taste of vomit burn at the very back of my throat.

Gazing at him I gently tuck the covers around his too thin frame then draw a chair towards the edge of the bed settling in it while silently urging him to sleep. Despite his obvious exhaustion he remains awake many hours fear, distrust and terror so noticeable in his eyes. I want to hold him, yearn to soothe him, ache for the raw pain I see shining so brightly in his eyes. I want nothing more than to climb in next to him, draw him into my arms, hold him close and tell him that everything is okay. But I don’t for I know that any attempt to comfort him will undoubtedly be rejected.

Unable to remain idle, to just sit and watch him I reach out my hand deliberately making each movement slow. My fingers hover scant inches from his face his breath now coming in soft tight pants. I speak then soothingly, “It’s all right. I won’t hurt you. It’s all right.”

His breaths are now tinged with wheezing, haggard and so very shallow. He’s afraid and I know it, but I still want to touch, long to touch so I gently press the very tips of my fingers to his left temple and gently brush hair away from his forehead before whispering a quiet, “You don’t need to be afraid any more. You’re free now. _Free._ No one will hurt you again. I promise so rest. Sleep now.”

I see in his eyes that he wants to believe to trust my words, but he can’t. He does however seem to calm. Watching him I’m relieved when he finally gives in to the exhaustion stalking him and closes his eyes. He shifts upon the mattress, unable to resist the call of sleep any longer. Within moments the battle is lost as his breathing evens out becoming slow and deep as rest finally finds him.

As he settles further upon the mattress, burrowing deeper into the covers, snuggling into the blankets that surround him and releases a soft quiet sigh I know then that I will spend the rest of my life ensuring that I keep my promise to him, that he will heal…that he will become whole once again.


End file.
